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Standard disclaimer.
Prince Arthur loudly cleared his throat, alerting the feuding duo of Gwen and Francis, to his presence.
"Francis is correct," he said. "The queen does not allow dogs in the palace."
Gwen jerked around, to meet the prince's gaze.
Arthur saw her resolution sink for just a second, before she recovered.
"Given the fact, that she gave birth to two kids and raised several, I'm not exactly sure, how she escaped with no pets, but that's beside the point. The queen won't have to take care of him. The queen is not a seven-year-old boy, who wants a pet so badly, he sneaks tadpoles into his room. It's not as if, he has a dozen friends or siblings to play with," she said, then, as if she suddenly remembered a smidgen of protocol, she bent her knees in a pseudo curtsy. "Your Highness."
"Pets are noisy and messy. They disturb palace life," Arthur argued.
"Babies are noisy and messy, too," she said, matching him argument for argument. "Are they forbidden from palace life?"
Arthur struggled with an overload of frustration.
"Of course not, but you should not have brought that dog into the palace, without permission. Andrew is going to be disappointed when the puppy is removed."
"If I may say, it's wrong, wrong, wrong, for that puppy to be removed. That puppy will inspire Drew, to read how to take care of it and develop a sense of responsibility. That puppy will provide companionship and friendship, especially, after I'm..."
She stopped, clearly faltering at the thought of leaving.
Arthur's gut twisted.
He knew what she was going to say.
If she insisted on leaving, Andrew will be sad, as for him, he will be destroyed.
"Having the puppy will give him invaluable qualities throughout his life," she started again.
"You were not invited to say so...to state your opinion," he said firmly.
Through the corner of his eyes, Arthur saw Andrew peek through the doorway. He watched his son bent down and clap his hands at the beagle.
The beagle, apparently, recognized his protector and skittered across the floor into Andrew's arms, who picked him up and was rewarded on the face with puppy licks.
"Sir," Andrew said, looking at his father with beseeching eyes. "I'll do anything to keep the dog."
'Damn', Arthur thought.
At this moment, there was nothing in the world he wanted more, than to give his son this simple wish.
The problem was, he had bigger issues to broach with the queen, one of which was non-negotiable for him.
He had learned not to overwhelm the queen, with more than one battle at a time.
"Put the puppy in the basement," he said crisply.
"In the dungeon?" Gwen asked, appalled.
"We don't have a dungeon anymore," he told her impatiently. "It's been remodeled."
"May I sleep with him?" Andrew asked.
"Absolutely not!" Arthur said. "If I find you disobey me on this, the dog will go."
"But he's just a puppy. He'll be lonely," Andrew said.
"Then, I suggest you study madam's puppy books, to learn how to help him successfully make the adjustment." He glanced at Francis. "You will help him with this."
Francis blanched.
"Me?" he asked, his voice breaking. He cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, Your Highness, I know nothing about dogs."
"Due to Madam Guinevere, it appears, we all will be learning about dogs, whether we wish to or not."
One of the assistants cleared his throat.
"If I may offer my assistance, Your Highness," he started. "My family had several dogs during my growing-up years..."
"Most normal families do," Gwen muttered under her breath.
Arthur shot her a quelling glance. He turned back to his assistant and kindly said,
"Thank you. This is to remain strictly confidential, until further notice." He then turned his full attention to Gwen.
"Madam Guinevere, meet me in my quarters."
"When?" she asked warily.
"Immediately," he said, and caught the faintest wince on her face, as he strode out of the room towards his quarters.
The anger roaring through his head, drowned out any other sound.
As soon as Arthur arrived at his door, he swung it open, waited for her to enter, then slammed it shut.
Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd slammed a door.
He was so angry, he deliberately stood several feet from her.
"Do not ever undermine my authority again," he said. Gwen flinched at the steel in his tone.
"I apologize, but I did it because I'll be leaving soon..."
"That is not decided," he said, feeling his frustration grow exponentially.
"Whether I go next week, next month or next year, we both know I will eventually have to leave."
"We do not know that," he said in a crisp voice.
Gwen looked up at the ceiling, as if she was seeking help.
"Listen...you can deny it, as we say in the States, until the cows come home. But when all is said and done and I return to my country for whatever reason, at whatever time, nothing will change for you, but everything will have changed for me. So, I can't be the queen of denial."
She sighed and moved closer, tentatively reaching out to him, but Arthur didn't trust himself to let her touch him.
She dropped her hand to her side, and his heart dropped with it.
"If I had it to do all over again, I would still get Drew the dog. I'm sorry, but I just don't understand why, it needs to be a state secret, or cause an international incident. I just don't get it, and this is why, it will never work out for me to be here. When it comes down to a choice between protocol and what is going to make you and Drew happy, I will always look after your hearts. Always," she said. "And that means I will always cause trouble."
Arthur felt as if he was walking a fraying tightrope.
And the rope will not hold much longer.
His relationship with his mother, had always been more professional than personal.
Now was no different.
At the same time, the clock was running out for Gwen.
Selfishly, he refused to accept her departure.
He might have sacrificed many other things, for the sake of the crown, but he refused to let her go so easily. He needed time to collect his thoughts.
"The queen returns, day after tomorrow. I will use the time between, to prep for my meeting with her." Gwen's gaze was warm with concern.
"I can see you have a lot on your mind."
It was strange as hell, but even though she'd just complicated matters, her presence calmed him.
"Yes," he simply said. And then, I will need to smooth things over with her about the dog..."
"Would you like me to leave?" she asked.
"No." His reply was immediate.
"Then what can I do? I knew there might've been a few, who'd object to the puppy, but I didn't do it to make things worse for you. Is there anything I can do to make things better?"
The longing in her voice, to make it all better, warmed his heart, but tempted him terribly.
"Is it possible for you to follow instructions without arguing?" he asked. Affronted, she shot him a dark look.
"Yes, I can follow instructions without arguing." He pulled his jacket off, then discarded his shirt.
"Follow me," he said, as he headed for his bedroom. "You can rub my shoulders," he ended.
Gwen still had mixed feelings, about his imperious tone, though the sight of his bare strong back distracted her.
She truly didn't want to cause trouble for him, and it appeared she had.
If giving him a back rub, would make him feel a little better, then she certainly wanted to do it.
Arthur laid face down on his bed and gave a heavy sigh, as if the weight of the day had been great.
Gwen suspected it had. And she had added to it.
Her heart squeezed at the thought.
This was the man behind the crown, and he was tired and frustrated.
It amazed her, that she had the power to make him feel better.
"Do you have any lotion?" she asked.
"I just want your hands," he said, and her heart gave a little jump.
She started with his neck, gently kneading his tensely corded muscles.
Moving to his shoulders, she massaged, thinking that in many ways, he carried a huge weight every day.
She rubbed her way thoroughly down to his lower back, then slowly up again, to his shoulders, neck and finally, to his scalp.
He gave a murmur of approval, when she moved her fingertips over his scalp, kneading and lightly scratching it.
Gwen continued, until she was certain he had fallen asleep.
But he hadn't, instead, he rolled over and met her gaze.
"Take off your blouse," he said. Confused, she searched his expression.
"But I thought..."
"Are you arguing?"
'Follow directions without arguing,' she remembered, and took off her blouse.
"Now your bra."
She did, feeling slightly self-conscious and her breasts reacted to the sensation of his gaze.
"Touch my chest," he told her. And she did as told.
Leaning forward, she ran her hands over his muscular chest.
This assignment was no hardship.
His chest was beautifully masculine.
She caressed him and slid her fingers through the soft hair in the center of his chest.
With each touch, she saw his breath deepened.
And just like that, the atmosphere changed.
He might be giving the directions, but she felt a heady sense of feminine power in that moment. And she held on to it, as tightly as she could.
Stay safe, stay home and stay blessed. Much love to you.